Hunter's Moon
by queenofthecorner
Summary: Perhaps it was to be expected with magics and powers that had not been properly stirred for millennia suddenly converging in a violent and unprecedented conflict but none of the affected were prepared when their realities started to slide together. Barriers that had once been fixed slid and melded and space and time were malleable in ways that they had not been since the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**Book One: Hunter's Moon**

**Prologue**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

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><p>Perhaps it was to be expected with magics and powers that had not been properly stirred for millennia suddenly converging in a violent and unprecedented conflict but none of the affected were prepared when their realities started to slide together.<p>

Barriers that had once been fixed slid and melded and space and time were malleable in ways that they had not been since the beginnings of the worlds themselves.

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><p>It started out as a soft buzzing, like a breath of wind against his ear, growing louder as time passed.<p>

_:Cas.: _

_:Cas, are you there?: _

_:Can you hear me, Cas?: _

_:Goddamnit Cas! Answer me! I'm freaking out down here!:_

_:Cas!:_

And Castiel would fully admit that he was foolish for not paying closer attention to the whispers, but, in all fairness, it had been several hundred years since anyone had prayed to him specifically, and he was unused to the sensation. Not to mention the shortening of his name.

It wasn't until later, after the flutter of words against his ear had stopped for a while and then suddenly came back full force, that he took more than a passing notice of them.

_:Castiel— please. Castiel please, I need your help here. I can't do this—I can't handle this on my own.:_

And, attention caught by the pleading tone and the use of his full name Castiel realized that there was in fact someone praying to him for help. Him specifically.

It was a small matter of will to find the human soul calling for him and Castiel was surprised to find that it was one he recognized by reputation, if not by anything else. Dean Winchester, the Sword of Michael.

The young hunter was sitting with his head between his knees in a motel room in Louisiana and he looked terrible both physically and metaphysically.

Dean Winchester's soul should not look so worn, was Castiel's first protest, nor should it have been darkened around the edges by curling wisps of black smoke that spoke of time spent in Hell. If the infernal forces had taken any of the Winchester line the Garrison most certainly and possibly the entire Host would have been alerted.

Even more puzzling was the fact that even though Dean Winchester had never once come in contact with him he was almost glowing with residual grace that spoke of close dealings with an angel. His soul was practically bathed in it. And Castiel recognized that grace to be his own.

Confused and maybe even a bit alarmed Castiel pulled his attention away from Dean Winchester. He considered reporting his findings to a superior, but thought it unwise to call attention to the situation when he wasn't sure what was going on. Uriel especially had a tendency to act without thinking things through, and Castiel didn't want to incite anyone into rash action.

What he did know was that the prayers of Dean Winchester were meant for him. Only he could hear the hunter's soul voice whispering into his ear. None of the other angels could hear his words which meant that the words were for Castiel and Castiel alone. And Dean Winchester's soul voice was—compelling.

The next time Castiel heard it was on a Thursday, the day under his domain. And from what he could tell some time had passed on Earth. Dean was calmer, less frantic, and Castiel wondered absently what had first pushed him into the grips of panic.

_:Cas, no I should probably call you Castiel shouldn't I, since we haven't even met yet. Maybe you know me, maybe you don't, I don't know, but in a different time or universe or something—hell, if I know what—you and I were friends. Good friends, I'd like to think.: _

This is a revelation for Castiel, who hadn't known it was possible for mortal to traverse the fabric of reality, even with magic, and who didn't understand how he'd come to be friends with one. Though he didn't doubt Dean Winchester's truthfulness. The evidence Castiel had gathered was all in support of his outlandish claims.

_:Anyway I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I don't want that to change. You're always telling me to have more faith, so I guess I'm just gonna have to trust that you can hear my prayers. That you're even listening. And I know you've probably got better things to be doing than listening to me so I'll make it short.:_

_:I figured out where and when I am_ _two days ago, and I think you're probably still under orders not to leave Heaven. Well, I got my own set of marching orders yesterday, from Dad, and I'm going to go get Sam. Try and save him and Jess from Old Yellow Eyes if I can. I'm going to try and change things. Even—even though it might mean that we never meet. I mean, if Sammy doesn't die you don't need to get my ass out of the Flame Pit, right? And maybe that's better for everyone involved.: _

_:Anyway, I'll talk to you again. Next Thursday. Bye Cas—Castiel, sorry.: _

And then like that Dean Winchester's voice left—his intent no longer on reaching Castiel. And Castiel found himself turning his focus towards the hunter, although he was not permitted to interfere on Earth, he could and would watch. After all he was more than a little intrigued.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Just a little teaser prologue to sort of set the scene. Please review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Hunter's Moon**

**Chapter One: Hit the Road**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

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><p>Parked out behind the red brick apartment in Palo Alto where Sammy lived with the still alive and kicking Jessica Moore, Dean wondered for the ten billionth time whether or not this was really a good idea.<p>

He felt guilty, he'd always felt guilty, about dragging Sam out of his safe, normal, not-quite-apple-pie-but-close-enough life. And he knew that Sam , his Sam, still blamed himself for not being there to protect Jess from Old Yellow Eyes. Yet here he was, lost and lonely and once again running to his brother for help, dragging him back into the life.

Rationally he knew that Azazel had them all dancing to his tune, that there was only so much he could do to keep Sam out of it. But that didn't stop him from being afraid that he was making all the same mistakes as last time. Or that he would make all new ones and they'd be five thousand times worse.

"Awesome," Dean sighed at the steering wheel, ducking out of the car.

Just for kicks, he decided to use the front door and knock like a normal person. Not that he thought Sammy would be any less pissed at him for it but, hell, maybe he could get Jess to think he wasn't a freak for more than two seconds.

2C was a corner apartment, with access to the fire escape and a hair more square footage than the blocks on either side, and the name plate read 'Sam Winchester and Jess Moore' and was handwritten in dark purple with funky block letters.

Dean gave the door a sharp few knocks, and resisted the urge to fidget when that didn't get Sam to his door in less than five seconds.

"Sam can you get the door?" called Jess from somewhere inside the apartment.

"Just a sec," Sam answered back.

Dean counted Sam's footsteps trying to measure out the length of the hall from memory, and then scowled when he caught himself at it.

The door swung open and there was Sammy dressed in a blue t-shirt and threadbare sweats, lean and tall and gangling like he hadn't been for years now, and his hair was short and neat, damp and curling a bit from the shower.

"Dean?" said Sam, after a moment of gaping.

"Heya Sammy," Dean said, and he couldn't help but grin.

Sam looked good, excellent actually, and not like he was soulless or crazy which were definite plus points in Dean's book. He also, as expected, went from surprised to closed-off and quietly pissed in about two seconds flat.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"I needed to see you. We need to talk," Dean answered, shoving his hands into his pockets and favouring Sam with a self-deprecating grin, "Can we maybe not do this in the hall?"

Sam stood aside and let him into the apartment, but not without some reluctance. Dean wanted to scold him for being too trusting, but reminded himself that the kid didn't know he was being hunted. And that he really didn't want his brother trying to stab him in the face.

Dean strode past him and into the living room, ignoring his scowl, his crossed arms and his generally hostile posture.

"Sam who was at the door?" asked Jessica, meandering into the room, dressed in the smurf shirt and rainbow pajama shorts she'd been wearing when Dean first met her.

"Hey, Jess," Sam said, posture softening a bit.

"Who's this?"

"Jess, this is my brother Dean," Sam said a bit hesitantly, "Dean this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Good to finally meet you," said Jess with a bright smile.

"Yeah—you too," Dean said favouring her a flash of a grin of his own, "Sorry to barge in."

"No problem, you're Sam's family," she shrugged, "Barge in anytime."

"Or there are these things now called phones," Sam put in, not dropping the hostility even a bit.

"If I'd've called would you've picked up?" countered Dean, "You stopped taking my phone calls years ago Sammy, I'd no reason to think this time would be any different."

Sam looked away at that.

"You said you needed to talk, so talk," he said, "I mean what the hell Dean?"

"Dad's missing," Dean said, to the point since it seemed like Sammy didn't want to waste time on the pleasantries.

"So he's working overtime on a Miller time shift, he'll stumble back in sooner or later," said Sam patently unconcerned.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, "You're not getting me Sammy. He's not on a bender somewhere, he up and disappeared. Left a job unfinished."

"Dean you need to stop chasing after Dad like this," said Sam, almost gently, like he understood where Dean was coming from and still thought he was crazy, "You remember Clifton? Amherst? He was missing then too. He's always missing and he's always fine."

"Yeah, well, I know that now. Better then you," snapped Dean, before shaking his head with a sigh, "Sorry, long week. Look Dad's got himself in over his head, fine. He doesn't want to talk to me, hey, I get it. But he left me this creepy voicemail and I need someone to ride shotgun for me on the job."

"You want me to pack up and hit the road with you?" demanded Sam, "You want me to work a job? Are you insane? No!"

"Sam," Jess chided, a hand on his arm.

Sam jumped, he'd forgotten she was there.

"Look your brother needs you, it looks like your Dad might be in trouble, if you need to go for a couple of days—"

"I don't," said Sam shortly, turning back to Dean, his expression set, "I told you I was done, and I meant it Dean. I have a good thing going here, and I don't want to be involved."

"Well you're shit outta luck then," laughed Dean bitterly, "We're involved Sammy, we're right in the friggin' middle of a gathering shitstorm and you do not want to be here in Apple Pie town when it rolls in, okay?"

"And what exactly do you mean by that? Is there something you're not telling me? Is something—someone—are you in trouble Dean? Is there someone following you?"

Dean considered telling Sam everything right then, just throwing it all out there. He was tired of arguing and he needed to get him in the car and on the road with him as of yesterday. But this whole thing was a whole heap of crazy. Crazy that Sammy hadn't had to deal with for three years, crazy that Sammy didn't even know existed yet. Crazy that was way outside of the generic hunter brand of crazy.

"Maybe, I don't know. Look Sam—whoa!"

Dean saved himself a busted jaw only because of reflexes he'd been honing since he was four years old.

"If you brought it here, Dean, I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll what Sam?" Dean threw back, standing up, "What exactly will you do?"

"I'll never forgive you," Sam said coldly.

Dean laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound, "Great, just peachy, didn't you ever take a second to stop and think Sam, that maybe, just maybe you brought it here? That you were just as much a part of this as me and Dad and that burying your head in the sand wasn't just stupid but it was friggin' reckless and now you and your girl are in danger?"

There was a long silence that stretched, tense.

"Danger?" asked Jess softly, raising an eyebrow, "Sam, what's going on? What is he talking about?"

"Nothing, Jess."

"You know what," Dean said, suddenly pissed, "You were planning on dragging her into the family Sammy, she deserves to know the truth about what she's getting herself into."

"Dean," warned Sam.

"Sam?"

Jess was starting to look pissed too, arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked in that classic 'you have some splanin' to do' pose that most women had perfected by the age of five.

"What do you want from me Dean?" demanded Sam, "Is there a reason you're here, really? Or do you just want to rip apart the life I've built?"

"There's a reason I'm here. You and Jess are in danger, and I want you to both pack a bag and come with me to Jericho. I want you to tell your girlfriend everything and let her make her choice and then I want you to come with me to see Bobby because I've got a whole lot of crap to drop on your heads."

"What's in Jericho?" asked Jess, when it became clear that Sam wasn't going to answer her.

"A job," Dean answered, turning to Jess, gauging her mental fortitude, "You might call it the family business."

"You are not dragging her into this!"

"You already did!" Dean burst out, it was a low blow but it was true and it was something that this Sam, the Sam who hadn't tasted all the tragedy of dragging ignorant loved ones into the life yet, needed to recognize and the sooner the better, "The second you got serious with her you dragged her into it. And she is in danger now because of that."

"What exactly is this danger you keep talking about? If we're in danger we should go to the police," Jess pointed out, in this eminently reasonable tone of voice.

"The danger is that the one that killed our mom wants Sam back in the life, and he'll kill you to get him back out there. And the police can't touch him for reasons that I'll explain if you end up coming with us."

Dean glanced at Sam, who'd gone white as a sheet under his cali tan. He wondered if this would be enough to push him into coming. He knew about Sam's visions, and Sam couldn't ignore them, he didn't think, not now that Dean was here telling him that Old Yellow Eyes was planning on killing his girl.

"To Jericho?" confirmed Jess, raising a skeptical brow.

"That's right," agreed Dean.

"Where there's some kind of job for you and Sam?"

"Exactly."

"Will we be back by Monday?" asked Jess.

"We could be," Dean said, not completely able to keep the fatalism out of his voice.

The silent 'but it wouldn't matter if we were because for right now lawyering isn't in the cards for Sammy' and Dean is sorry, but Azazel won't let Sam twiddle his thumbs, not when he's planning the apocalypse. And even if he's stopped there's still the problem of Heaven's hard-on for the epic battle to deal with.

"Dean, Sam's got an important interview Monday. His whole future, everything he's worked for…it's a really big opportunity for him. We need to be back by Monday," Jess put in firmly.

Dean's just happy that Jess at least has already decided to come. If Jess came Sam would come and if Dean could convince Sam that he's not in fact coo-coo for cocoa puffs that'd be enough, he hoped, to keep them both breathing.

Azazel just wanted Sam out of school, in the life, hunting, he didn't actively want Jess dead as far as Dean knew so this should work until he could get someplace where he could tell Sam the whole story. And hope Sam believed him. And really hope that he wouldn't just walk out, take Jess and a pile of lore and move to Tahiti or something.

"Got it," Dean agreed, easily, "Back by Monday, can do. We gotta leave tonight though."

Sam shot Dean a narrow-eyed look. And Dean was glad that this younger, head-in-the-clouds Sammy still knew him better than pretty much anyone, could see the lie there. If Sam could see it, knew it was there, it felt less like lying somehow.

And then Sam took a look at him, a real look at him, and frowned in concern, his brows pulling together as he stared at Dean. And that was when Dean remembered just how annoying it was to have someone who knew you that well when you had something to hide from them for real.

"Are you—I dunno, are you alright man?" Sam asked suddenly.

"Peachy-keen Sammy," said Dean with a grin that was made of ten parts charm and three parts grit, a grin that he knew Sam found especially annoying, "Pack your bags, we leave in thirty minutes."

"You gonna tell me about the job?" asked Sam.

"I'll fill you in on the way. Job looks pretty cut and dry but we might need to clean up after Dad a bit."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Sam muttered disappearing into the bedroom.

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><p>Jess was tugging on her lucky jeans and had fished her sports bag and Sam's beat up duffel out of the back of the closet.<p>

"Hey," Sam asked softly while she yanked through the stuff in their closet a bit aimlessly, "How're you doing?"

She wasn't looking at him and Sam knew that she was angry and confused. Hell, Sam was angry and confused and he understood a good portion of Dean's double-talk.

That soft statement was more than enough to set her off, "Seriously Sam? How am I doing? That's all you have to say to me?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me he's wrong. That you haven't been lying to me all this time."

Sam hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flicked up to the ceiling. The ceiling where in his dreams for the past few months Jessica dies, stomach slashed open and lit on fire. Just like his mother.

Sam had been trying to convince himself that there was nothing to those dreams, that they were just his subconscious' fucked up way of letting him know that he was still scared of officially committing no matter how many times he paused in front of the jewellery store and thought about the ring in the window with its tiny winking diamond.

But now Dean was here. Dean was here and he looked so tired. Just run down. And Dad was missing and Dean was talking about the thing that had killed mom and Sam felt a knot of cold dread settle in his stomach.

"Sam, please! This isn't something we can just not talk about."

"Not anymore," agreed Sam with a shrug, "You asked if I'd been lying to you. Yeah, a little at first, about my childhood, my family. But mostly we just don't talk about it so I don't have to lie and it's easier that way."

"Well that's going to stop. Right here. Promise me Sam."

"I promise," Sam agreed, "But Jess, you—if we go with Dean you're going to find out a lot about me, about our family, that you wish you didn't know."

"Like for example?"

"Like for mild starters that Dean runs credit card scams and hustles pool, and that I keep I knife in that old automotive manual."

Jess frowned at it and strode over to open the cover. The inside had been completely hollowed out before he even started first year and the silver knife in there glinted prettily in the lamplight when Jess lifted it out carefully.

"Like what else?" asked Jess.

"Like that our mom died in a fire, but it wasn't the fire that killed her. And like Dad dragged us around on his crusade to find her killer and raised us like warriors when he could be bothered with the raising part of his job."

"So this about your mom, the one who killed her? Then why don't you go to the police."

"It's complicated, and you have to see it to believe it, but the police won't touch this. Can't. I'll explain more when we get to Jericho and I have some hard proof to give you, until then please just trust me when I say that if Dean is spooked about this, and he seems to be, then we might be better off taking a few days away from here anyway."

"Because we're in danger."

"Maybe, maybe not," sighed Sam, "When I left home I swore I was done with all of this. I haven't been in contact with Dean or Dad in about two years, there's no reason for this—this guy to be after me. But I'm not about to risk your life and I trust Dean."

"Sam, baby," said Jess gently taking his face in her hands, "Have you ever considered that maybe it doesn't matter? I mean this guy went after your mom specifically right? He's kept track of you for twenty-two years. Maybe he's just out for your family and nothing you could've done would have been enough to get away from it."

"That's so not comforting, Jess."

"But it means that this isn't your fault. Or even Dean's. So promise me you'll at least think about what I said?"

"Alright. I'll think about it."

"Good. Now what do I need to bring?"

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Jess is hard to write ngl. Anyway here's the second installment please review and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Book One: Hunter's Moon**

**Chapter Two: It's Not the End of the World**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

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><p>The white light, the shaking and rumbling and the piercing, shrieking high-pitch screeching that was what they could perceive of an archangel's true voice faded. And everything was suddenly still. And quiet. Blessedly so.<p>

"Okay, what the hell just happened?" demanded the short blonde looking around wildly, staggering upright, her hand clenched tight around the arm of a tall, lanky brunette.

"Not the Apocalypse?" suggested her companion hopefully after a long moment, taking in the room in front of them, "I mean, look Dee—no blood, no Ruby, no Lilith, no Devil."

"Yeah, okay, but how? If that back there wasn't some biblical end of days, herald of woe shit back there then, I repeat, what the hell just happened?"

"Maybe someone stopped it. The angels?"

"Those dicks with wings? Yeah, not likely, Sammie."

"What about Castiel?" suggested Sam.

"She doesn't have the juice to take care of this thing. If she could've you know she would've, and—" Dee broke off and cleared her throat a little, not looking her sister in the eye, "And she was too busy keeping the other angels off our backs."

Sam's face crumbled, Castiel wasn't coming back from a confrontation with heaven's upper echelons and if Deanna had let her try—

"Dee, I'm—"

"If you know what's good for you Samantha you will shut the fuck up right now," Dee growled, stalking out the doors of the convent chapel, the demon killing knife still clenched in her fist.

And Sam knew better than to push. She'd screwed up. She'd been so stupid. So sure she was doing the right thing.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," she murmured to herself.

"Yeah, friggin' literally," spat Deanna, the clack of her boot-heels echoing menacingly in the empty halls.

The completely empty halls.

"Dee," Sam said, "The demon meat-suits. They're gone."

"Great, less work for us."

"Deanna just stop for a second, there is something seriously freaky going on here!"

"Yeah, what's going on here is that either someone cancelled the Apocalypse or we somehow survived the Devil coming down to friggin' Maryland. Either way, we've gotta re-group. Talk to Bobby. Find out what's going on."

Dee burst out into the cool grey afternoon, pulling her phone out of her jacket and hitting the speed dial as she took the steps two at a time. The phone rang three times and then clicked to let Dee know someone had picked up.

"Singer's Auto-Salvage," answered a gruff, and very distinctly male voice.

That threw Deanna for a loop, and she pulled up short.

"Uh, hey can I talk to Bobby?" she asked, hoping against hope that her pseudo-aunt was just entertaining company since the world was about to end.

And that was something she'd never hoped before because, frankly, the thought of Bobby having sex kinda freaked her out.

"This is Bobby," grumbled the guy on the other end.

"No I mean the, uh, other Bobby. The lady who owns the yard. Roberta Flemming."

"Darlin' I've owned this yard my whole damn life, and there ain't nobody named Roberta that lives 'round here. You've got yourself a wrong number."

And there was another click as the line disconnected.

"What was that?" asked Sam, brows pulled together in obvious worry.

"Beats the hell outta me," said Dee, "Some guy answered Bobby's phone, says he's never hear of her and hung up on me."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, no shit," huffed Dee, running a hand through her mess of hair, "Something is going on here. Something weird."

"Weirder than the Apocalypse?" asked Sam.

"Looks like it."

Sam considered the church before her, turning in a slow circle. No one would ever believe that this slightly creepy abandoned convent was the entrance to Lucifer's Cage. No one would ever believe that that Cage had been opening not even five minutes ago.

"I don't get it," she said out loud, more to herself than Deanna, "The Cage was opening. I kickstarted the friggin' Apocalypse but everything just looks normal."

"Yeah, well, no offense Sammie, but I'm not gonna stick around to look this particular horse in the mouth. Just in case," she started out towards the sounds of the road, "Where'd you and the demon bitch park your ride? Closer to the road."

"No we parked right out…front," Samantha trailed off frowning, whipping her head around, looking for the, very obvious, orange and black car he and Ruby had pulled up in, "Where's the car? It should be right there."

"Maybe the bitch moved it," suggested Dean.

"No, Ruby was too busy egging me on and then praising me for being a gullible idiot while she gloated obnoxiously to go out and move the car. And after that we ganked her pretty decisively."

"Yeah that right there, pretty much made my year," said Dee, "Alright so, not Ruby. Then maybe the demon meat wasn't as, y'know, meaty as they looked."

"So they all hopped into a stolen car?" said Sam raising a skeptical brow.

Even Deanna had to admit that was a little far-fetched.

"Well what else do you think could've happened Sam? There has to be an explanation."

"I dunno Dee, something doesn't feel right."

"Yeah well, maybe all that demon blood upset your poor tummy," hissed Dee, continuing to follow the gravel drive in front of the convent out to the road.

That made Samantha stop in her tracks, because she couldn't feel the demon blood in her anymore. There was no residual headache from the psychic energy it took to ice Lilith and she was desperate for a hit or shaking with withdrawal symptoms.

"Dee! The demon blood!" Sam said, wide-eyed.

Deanna turned, a dark menace in her eyes at the very mention of Ruby's poison of choice.

"It's gone," Sam said, "I can't feel it in me, and I can't feel its absence the way I usually can when I run through the juice it gives me."

That gave her sister pause.

"You mean you're what? Clean?"

"I don't know. Maybe? I—I think so. I feel, I don't know. Clear-headed. More like myself than I've felt in a long time."

Dee scowled darkly at nothing, turning and walking away again.

"Well, at least that's something. C'mon Sammie. We're blowing this pop-stand. We've gotta find some answers."

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>So who likes Samantha and Deanna? Please take the time to drop a review on your way out and let me know what you think.


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